


Advent Calendar 2013

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, my horrible attempts at humor, sweet fluffy things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 20,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Advent Calendar off Tumblr for your OTP! Mostly sweet and fluffy, and silly. Rated with the possibility that it might get a little inappropriate (considering most of my work is).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1 Cuddling

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm a day behind starting, but I will catch up! Most of these will be short and fluffy, but like I said, they might get a little naughty. Depending.
> 
> Oh, and my horrible attempts at humor.

Bruce crouched on the roof, surveying Gotham below. The city beamed with lights, colorful and bright, as they prepared for the holiday season. December first, and it was pleasantly cold and _quiet_.

The click of heels made his jaw tighten, and he knew the quiet he had found was gone just as it had came.

“ _Prett-y_ isn’t it, Bats?” the clown asked as he walked up behind him. Bruce didn’t turn around, but he nodded ever-so-slightly, just enough for the Joker to see him. He man settled down next to him, sitting so his legs dangled off the building like a child, and began tracing the specks of light in the city like a connect-the-dots puzzle.

Bruce chuckled at this, settling down from his crouch into a sit. The Joker was smiling- a real smile, not his sick grin.

“So Bats, what’re you gonna get me for Christmas?”

“How about an all expenses paid trip to Arkham?” The Joker frowned, reaching over to shove him playfully.

“But _bab-y_ I’ve already got that!” He pouted, and Bruce reached over, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. The city would be in outrage if they could see routine the two had slipped into- the banter and clumsy kisses and the desire that Bruce had repressed for so long- but he was almost beyond caring. _Almost_. Whatever-this-was kept the Joker calm for the time being- he hadn’t blown anything up for weeks, and it left most of Bruce’s nights free anyway, so why not enjoy him a little bite?

Bruce rolled his eyes and the Joker leaned over, pressing into his chest. Both of Bruce’s arms wrapped around him.

“How about a room in your pretty penthouse, ah, cupcake? It’s rather cold in the city in winter, but I bet your bed is _real warm_.” The Joker giggled. “Why, I could wake you up every morning with breakfast! How do you take your eggs, Mr. Wayne? Did I mention I look _real good_ in an apron? _Just_ an apron?”

Bruce was blushing, but laughing. “Joker,” he said, tussling his curls. “Shut up.” He pressed him closer to his chest, enjoying the feel of his lithe body in his arms- wishing he didn’t have the suit in the way. Perhaps he’d have to remedy that, maybe take the Joker home for a night. Maybe two. The man had never stayed more than a few hours in the Penthouse maybe it was time to change that.

“You know Brucie, I could even put on one of those little maid get-ups for you. Dust a bit. _Oh Mr. Wayne, I didn’t expect you home so soon! I was just dusting the top shelf, could you give me a boost_?” He fell into a giggle fit and Bruce just let it happen. That was his nature, after all.

Besides, it wasn’t a half bad image.

When the giggles began to subside Bruce gripped the man extra tight and pulled him down, Bruce falling onto his back and the Joker sprawled out over him. He grinned and placed a kiss to the bat symbol engraved in Bruce’s suit, leaving a red smudge behind, his hands stroking along Bruce’s sides.

“Take me home, Brucie baby,” he said, rather calm, and Bruce smiled, because he wanted to do just that.


	2. Day 2 Snowman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 prompt, snowman! I'm also now caught up, and can hopefully publish on time! :)
> 
> Assuming a pre-established relationship and a partially to mostly rehabilitated Joker.

Bruce examined the two large balls of snow that had been assembled before him- one large on the bottom, one slightly smaller atop it. He wasn’t sure _why_ he was out in the cold doing this, but Jack had insisted, and now he stood making sure the damn creation didn’t fall over before it was complete.

“C’mon Jack,” he called, “I’m freezing my balls off, here.”

Jack laughed from a few yards away, standing straight up and pulling his hat down over his ears, his green curls sticking to his cheeks.

“Poor baby. We’ll have to, ah, get you some special mittens for that.” Bruce scowled, because he spent enough time in the cold as Batman, he didn’t need to be in it as Bruce, but Jack was lifting the final hunk of snow and carrying it over. Bruce watched as he set it atop the others, brushed off a few rough corners, than grinned. “Perfect! Now he needs a face!”

Bruce groaned.

“Just carved one in, I’m not going to dig you up a carrot and what not.” Jack pouted, but then turned and used his finger to dig a set of eyes and a massive grin into the snow man. Bruce grimaced- it was a bit _frightening_ , that smile, but what did he expect from the man that had been, and still at times could be, the Joker? Even if Jack had “left” that world behind for Bruce, for a shot at a real relationship, hints of it sprung up all the time.

“ _Perrrr-fect_!” he cooed, stepping back and grinning, and Bruce sighed.

“Great, let’s get inside and thaw out now.”

“But Brucie, he needs a hat! And a scarf!” Bruce rolled his eyes and reached out, plucking the hat from Jack’s head and setting it on the snowman, grinning at him. Jack’s curls were plastered to his head and sticking out at various angles, and Bruce just _had_ to laugh because no matter what, Jack always got the worst hat hair ever.

“Jerk,” Jack said, before he shoved Bruce, who fell into the snow on his butt with a soft cry. Jack laughed at that, hands on his hips and letting go in a familiar laugh Bruce had heard from the Joker so many times before.

Smirking, Bruce reached for him and pulled Jack down into the snow. Jack cried out as he landed, getting a mouth full of the white fluff. He rolled over and it stuck to his hair. He reached over and grabbed Bruce’s jacket, holding him still as he rocked onto his hip and grinned, before kissing him on the mouth.

Jack’s mouth, thanks to the snow, was like kissing a refrigerator, and Bruce shivered but couldn’t stop. He kissed him back, warmed those cold lips, and as Jack partially lay on his chest he was beginning to think the snow wasn’t too bad after all. He could handle the cold for a few more minutes.

Jack’s now exposed head left him feeling cold, though, and a few sweet movements of his lips in he was pulling back, mumbling that they should head inside and warm up. He winked, and Bruce grinned like a fool in love.

The two stood up and Jack headed towards the penthouse, leaving Bruce to look back at the snowman. That grin didn’t seem so bad now, large but not maniacally or anything. Just overly happy.

He unwound his scarf and wrapped it around the snowman, tipping his head to it with a smile. He heard Jack calling him and turned, saw him at the door waving, a big, happy grin on his face.

Just like the snowman.


	3. Day 3 Buying Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be highly inappropriate and my attempt at humor, but then I decided I wanted something really sweet. Very happy with it, and the fact that I got it done before my class and my shift at work! :)
> 
> Assume a pre-established relationship- as with most of these silly little things :)

Bruce stuffed his hands into his pockets as he stood outside the shop, staring in. When he breathed his breath exploded like smoke, the air was cold, but it was nice. It was nice to not be in the suit and to be a normal person for one night.

Or, it normally was.

Bruce was horrible with gifts. Just horrible. He’d never had a girlfriend he’d given anything thoughtful to- usually some huge, expensive piece of jewelry had them all cooing with joy. If it required even a bit of thought, he’d go straight to Alfred.

But he couldn’t for this. He just couldn’t. This had to mean _something_. After all, the Joker- no, no, Jack- was the only person he’d ever been truly serious about in anything.

But how does one buy the Joker something for Christmas? Bruce couldn’t go out and buy him a new array of guns or a set of knives- not since he was, after all, steering Jack _away_ from that lifestyle. That was the stipulation- Bruce would date him, but he had to give it up. And he was pretty good on his word. _Pretty good_. There had been that incident with the mayor a week and a half ago- but no one was hurt. The Joker had just been antsy and bored and needed to shake things up a bit.

Bruce chuckled at it, since no one was hurt he could laugh at the mayor’s face when he was scared. Of course, at the time he’d been very serious, but the Joker had winked at him during and played it off that Batman was taking him down with barely a fight. Instead, Jack had decided to fight back later in Bruce’s silk sheets.

Bruce blushed and shook the thoughts away. Later, more important matters at hand. So, knives and the like were out. Then what? A new green or purple tie? A new pair of purple leather gloves? _Make-up_?

No, this really had to mean something. Bruce walked past the shop and down the street, on auto-pilot, and before he knew what he was doing was entering one of the many jewelry stores. He cursed, this wouldn’t work at all, and was about to turn right around and walk out when something caught his eye. Hesitating for a moment, then deciding he had nothing to lose, Bruce walked over to the little jewelry tree on the counter and touched the bracelet that was dangling.

It was simply- a small silver plate attached to a silver chain. Engraved in script on the plate was one simple word. _Beautiful_.

Bruce looked at it, ran his fingers over the grooves the word created. It was meant for a woman, he knew that, but that one word- it was everything Jack was, even if the man wouldn’t _truthfully_ admit it. His eyes and those curls and his smile. It dazzled when there wasn’t some twisted plan behind it- breathed life into his pale face, all the way up to his emerald eyes. So green, Bruce had never seen any that rivaled them.

His heart was thudding suddenly, and Bruce realized just how smitten he really was. Be it the Joker or Jack, it was the same man just wrapped in different packaging, and he loved them both, the twisted thing they were. He even loved the scars- the little stories all over Jack’s body he could trace with his fingertips, the ones on his face that Jack did up in paint when he could, but Bruce knew the shame. He was quick to let his hair try to hide as much of them as possible when he shed the get-up and was just Jack.

Bruce was carrying the bracelet to the register before he knew what he was doing. When he handed it to the girl, she smiled.

“Cute,” she said, “Would you like an engraving underneath it? Like a name or the date or anything? The guy’s still here, you’d only have to wait a few minutes.”

Bruce thought on it, then smiled. Yes, yes he would.

When he arrived home later that evening, the bracelet safe in a little box, done up with a pretty red bow, Alfred was waiting with a mug of decaf coffee to warm him.

“Did you have any luck, Master Bruce?” he asked as Bruce unwound his scarf and pulled his gloves off.

“As a matter of fact, I did, Alfred.” He pulled the box out and Alfred set the coffee down on the small table in the parlor, as Bruce sat down. He carefully slid the ribbon off the box, so as to not undo it, and lifted the lid. He pulled the bracelet out and handed it to Alfred, who handled it gently, looking it over and reading both inscriptions. “You don’t think it’s too...girly, do you? I mean, Jack isn’t the pinnacle of manliness, after all. And I was thinking...I’m going to leave it on my pillows for him. And I’m going to ask him to move in. I know that’s what he’d really want for Christmas. And I think I’m ready for that.”

“Master Wayne,” Alfred said, passing him back the bracelet with a smile, “I think it’s perfect, sir.”

Bruce smiled, running his finger over the small engraving on the underside of the plate, _to my Jack, love Bruce_ , and knew if Alfred approved it was _exactly_ what Jack would want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the conclusion of this on Day 24, Receiving Gifts! :)


	4. Day 4 Watching a Movie

Bruce watched as the moment he stood up from the couch, Jack dove for his spot, stretching out under the blanket until just the tips of his candy-cane stripped socks poked out, and smiled like a fool as he soaked in the warmth Bruce left behind.

Bruce rolled his eyes and walked off towards the kitchen- unsure why _he_ was the one up when Jack was the one that wanted something. But then again, that seemed to be how their relationship always worked- Jack _wanted and wanted and wanted_ and forced Bruce to move the way he wanted him to- often without Bruce even knowing.

When he entered the kitchen he saw Alfred at the store, stirring a large stew over the stove. Alfred smile at Bruce and watched as he swiped a candy cane from a little bowl on the table.

“Sweet tooth, sir?”

“Not me,” Bruce said, and Alfred just smiled a little more. Considering all the things Jack had done in his Joker run- and the mayhem he still caused from time to time- Alfred had accepted him rather rapidly, and seemed even now to like him.

“Don’t let him eat too much candy,” Alfred said as Bruce headed for the door, “He won’t have room for dinner.”

When Bruce reentered the room, Jack was still stretched out on the couch, eyes focused on the TV as his toes, still poking out from the blanket, swayed to the music coming from the screen. All day, it had been these old Christmas movies, starting with Rudolph and culminating now with Santa Claus is Comin' to Town. And while Bruce had put on a face of annoyance through-out the ordeal, he’d been rather happy to have a day on the couch with Jack- not worrying about the company, need thinking about the suit and the mask and if he needed to go out that night.

“You put one foot in front of the ooootheeerr!” Jack was singing as Bruce walked back to his spot and began to shove him out of it. Jack protested- but moved, and Bruce settled back in with Jack cuddled up to him, the blanket drapped over their laps. He handed him the candy cane, which quieted his singing as he quickly opened it and shoved the end in his mouth, a happy little sound escaping him. Bruce wrapped an arm around him and played with a stray green curl.

“Alfred said no more sugar, or you won’t eat dinner,” Bruce said, and Jack pouted around the candy, before pulling it from his mouth to speak.

“Oh, _but daaaaaaad_ ,” he teased, shoving Bruce with his shoulder playfully. Bruce rolled his eyes.

“Seriously, it’s all you’ve eaten all day. And don’t call me that- it’s weird.” The Joker smirked- that sort of smirk that could mean fire in the sky, or in Bruce’s chest.

“You’re just scared you’ll _like_ it, like with everything sugar.” He peeled more of the wrapper off the candy cane. “Besides, you don’t wanna be my daddy?” He stared at Bruce as he licked the candy cane, and Bruce felt his cheeks tinging pink. He looked away, took a deep breath, and silently cursed because he’d let Jack get to him and he could feel those knots in his belly tightening that meant Jack was probably, _probably_ right.

“Shut up and watch your movie,” he said, and Jack shrugged and shoulder and dropped it- for now- nestling back into Bruce and staring back at the screen. He wrapped one arm lazily around the front of Bruce’s waist, fingers playing in his soft sweater, and Bruce traced tiny little patterns between his shoulder blades- rather happy that whatever little nerve Jack had stroked, it was calmed down as soon as he turned into the warm cuddle-ball he was most of the time.

He wanted to chuckle- if Gotham could see the Joker now, they would never take him seriously again.

“We should get you a Santa costume,” Jack said, never looking away from the screen, giggling a little. “You can be my Kris Kringle, and I’ll be your Jessica! Maybe we can hijack an orphanage and dress the kids up like elves.”

Bruce sighed. “Jack,” he said, “you’re insane. We’re not stealing orphans.” He said it without much inflection- as if this was just another Jack suggestion, because frankly, _it was_.

“But you’ll dress up?” Jack asked eagerly. “’Cause, you know, I could sit on your lap and-“

“Oh god enough!” Bruce said, and Jack was dissolving into a fit of laughter. Bruce considered shoving him off the couch, but at least this was better than his earlier idea that Bruce and he wear antlers and Jack wear a light-up nose and try to figure out who was the “dominate” reindeer.

Bruce was fairly sure there’d be no more Christmas movies after this, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully someone giggled out there at my horrible humor :)
> 
> Also, Santa Claus is Comin' to Town is my favorite Christmas movie...I had to include it.


	5. Day 5 Sleeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to do another more Joker/Batman-Bruce instead of Jack/Bruce.

He’s a different man when he sleeps- calm and smooth, losing the gruff voice and those hard, hard eyes. The defenses are down when his eyes close, he could have been a baby in that moment, it wouldn’t make a difference.

The Joker idly traces his finger along Batman’s- oh, no, Bruce right now- bicep, feeling hard, toned muscle and oddly smooth skin. His fingers goes down to his elbow, along his forearm, stopping at his wrist to feel his steady pulse.

Pieces of the batsuit lay scattered around the dingy little apartment the Joker has decided to call home for the night. Broken down apartments have been his thing as of late- but considering his recent break from Arkham, he hasn’t had time to get anything much nicer.

Doesn’t matter though, none of it matters. The point is the naked Bat sleeping next to him. He grins, his face paint faded and smeared from the vigorous love making he’d just indulged in- most of said paint lest on the sheets and pillowcases and Bruce’s perfect body. The Joker thinks the paint looks better on Bruce anyway- so long as the application brush is his lips.

He lifts up a bit from the bed, the blanket falling away, and it’s _cold_ because these abandoned buildings don’t have heat, and it’s December and he was only warm from the fire in his veins and Bruce’s flesh. Still, he pulls the blanket off Bruce for just a bit- Bruce, who is like clock work after their little trysts, who will wake exactly an hour after his power nap began and resuit and leave- except for those few nights when the Joker can entice him for round two. Usually the agitation in his eyes is too great for that.

He just needs to admit what they are.

The Joker leans over Bruce, looks at his sculpted stomach, and leans down, pressing his lips firmly to it. He leaves behind a crimson smudge, and satisfied, kisses next to it, along a curved path until he has left a red grin behind on Bruce’s body. He likes to leave marks on his Bat, smudges of paint to remind him who just sucked the very marrow from his bones, marks that remind him that his heart beats for what the Joker gives.

This is obvious, this will wash away. The smudged lip print on Bruce’s inner thigh, dangerously close to more intimate places, won’t. Not right away, not until he sees it when he’s put the Joker in the back of his mind and moved on and finally thinks he’s free. He’ll find it then and spiral back and miss him and need him, and another night is promised. That’s how it always goes.

The Joker snakes his way back up Bruce’s body and pulls the blanket around them, trapping in their warmth. “Baby, it’s cold outside,” he whispers into his ear, trying not to giggle at the holiday reference, hoping that in his sleeping state Bruce hears him, hears the silent request in those words.

Stay a little longer. Stay the night, stay the day, stay the rest of your life.


	6. Day 6 Decorating

Jack was giggling as he flicked the red lights on the tree. They were _suuuuch_ a pretty color, and though Bruce had wanted just white, he’d finally convinced him otherwise.

Bruce was sitting on the couch, watching Jack, uninterested at this point. Getting the tree up and lights on took about all of his drive, and as he nursed a scotch, legs up on the couch in his pajamas, he let his boyfriend have the “fun” of doing the rest.

Jack was putting random ornaments in even more random locations- stars and elves and a little Santa with a huge belly- even wrapped candy canes. The absolute chaos of it all went against the themed, boring tree Bruce had wanted, and looked more like what a set of kids would decorate than a grown adult. Still, Jack was having a blast, waiting until most of the tree was covered before he dug into one of the bags and pulled out the ornament he had been saving.

A plump yellow bulb, the bat symbol dead center. Bruce frowned.

“Where the hell did you get that?”

“While we were out. You weren’t looking.” He cleared a spot in the center, and hung it where all eyes would be drown.

“No way, take it down. Last thing I need is to advertise on the damn tree that I’m Batman.”

“Oh Batsy _baby_ ,” Jack said, “you act like anyone will even _seeee_ it. It’s staying.” He planted his hands on his hips, grinning, and Bruce stared at him for a minute, before he set his glass down on the table and stood up. Jack didn’t move as Bruce approached, until he was within reach and then turned to move, but Bruce was too fast- he grabbed him around the waist and in one fluid movement lifted him up and hoisted him over his shoulder. Jack squirmed and felt Bruce’s hand smack down on his ass.

“I’ll drop you if you squirm,” he said, and before Jack could protest he tossed him onto the couch. He turned and stalked back to the tree, about to take the ornament off, but Jack was scrambling up and running over, cursing at him between pet names. He jumped onto Bruce’s back, making him spin around and almost lose his balance- narrowly avoiding crashing into the tree.

They did crash down onto the other couch, Bruce on his stomach and Jack on Bruce’s back. Jack sat up and straddled his ass, grinning.

“No way Bats, that ornament stays!” He laughed, one of his loud, high pitched giggle fits, and Bruce bucked up, causing Jack to lose his balance and topple to the floor with a loud _thud_. Bruce sat up and grinned, pulling him up by the collar of his shirt- and for a moment considered giving him a good punch for old time’s sake, but resisted. After all, they were _trying_ to have a normal relationship.

“It goes,” he said, and Jack frowned, shaking free but staying on his knees on the floor.

“It stays!”

“Whatever it is, it’s going to stay and you both will be out in the snow freezing.” Alfred walked in, holding a plate of fresh cookies, but frowning. “I swear, it’s like having children. Maybe I should take these back to the kitchen.”

Jack pouted, and Alfred sighed and set them down on the table. He turned and walked over to the wall, killing the lights so the tree could glow, and smiled.

“A fine tree this year,” he said, and Jack grinned.

“See Brucie, _he_ likes it.”

Bruce looked at the tree, at the glow, the mismatch of ornaments, and the damned bat bulb taking center stage- but he had to admit, it had some sort of charm. But he wouldn’t say it- he was too stubborn.

“Get up here,” he said to Jack with a sigh, and he scrambled up onto the couch and happily draped himself in Bruce’s lap. Bruce wrapped an arm around him. “It can stay- but you’ve gotta make it up to me.”

Jack chuckled, running one finger down Bruce’s chest. “I think I can, ah, do that, sugar.” He grinned, and Bruce heard Alfred clear his throat from the distance. Bruce’s cheeks tinged pink.

“Hush,” he said, smacking his hip playfully and letting his other hand rub his calf lovingly. Jack shrugged a shoulder and stole one of the cookies Alfred had left on the table, nibbling at it and watching the lights blink and flash, seeming mesmerized. Bruce wondered for a moment the last time he had something even resembling a normal holiday- and then tried to remember when he himself had.

He was drawing a blank.

Jack finished his cookie and Alfred left the room. Seizing the moment, Jack grabbed Bruce’s collar and pulled him down for a kiss- tasting sugary, like the promise of _so much more_ , and Bruce decided that there was no way this would be a normal holiday- but it’d still be the kind he liked.

He wrapped both arms around Jack and held him still as he kissed him lazily, beneath the flickering red lights, against the mixing taste of sugar and scotch, and something deep inside the man Bruce could never place, no matter which face he put on.


	7. Day 7 Around the Tree

He twirled the knife in his gloved hands, between his fingers and over his knuckles and back again with a practiced yet natural ease. He’d been standing the the shadows for a good two hours as the rather useless inhabitants of Gotham had walked up to the giant tree that had been erected towards the center of the city, placed something on it, and left. Most were children with their parents, while some were couples, and the few stragglers that came alone.

He waited until it was deserted, until it was Bat hour and the sanitary parts of Gotham slept. Then he walked from the shadows, heels clicking on the cold sidewalk as he made his way to the tree, curious as to what had dragged everyone out in the cold.

He clicked his tongue as he shoved his knife away, noticing bits of circular green and red papers, folded in half and strung up. He opened one, moved his lips as he read silently the scrawled letter,

_All I want for Christmas is a Transformer toy_.

He put it back, opened another one.

_All I want for Christmas is a puppy_.

Back again. So people were leaving their folded up Christmas wishes on the tree, that was it? They braved the cold- in fact, the Joker noted he could now see his breath as he exhaled, and felt the chill seeping down to his bones- for _that_.

Fools, what fools. The whole lot, the entire city. What good was leaving bits of paper on an over sized tree going to do? The Joker considered getting himself some gasoline and a match, having a nice big bonfire to warm himself for the night, but before, reached for another piece of paper and read it.

_All I want for Christmas is for him to love me._

He read it again, let his thumb move over the letters, his tongue over his scarred and painted lips. Then he tossed it back and decided the tree was a waste of time, he’d set fire to something worthwhile. He was about to turn and leave when he noticed the little table left out, with a bucket of pencils and a box of the papers.

He looked around, still saw not a soul, and then shrugged a shoulder and plucked a pencil out, scribbling on the paper,

_All I want for Christmas is the Big Bad Bat._

He strung it up on the tree with an oddly satisfied look- though he wouldn’t admit it- and turned to go back off to the shadows. He hadn’t taken more than a few steps when he heard the familiar fluttering of a cape though, and the gentle landing of heavy boots on the pavement. He stopped, a secret smile crossing his face.

“Nice nigh- _t_ , Bats,” he said without looking, and the footsteps pounded towards him. He turned, just in time to get a guantletted fist to the face. He staggered back, laughing and reaching up to rub his jaw. “What? No _hello_? No seasons gree-t-ings?”

Another fist to the jaw, and he fell onto his ass, laughing again. He turned and spit blood, felt it heavy over his tongue. When he looked back and grinned, it stained his teeth.

“You’re always _so rough_ baby, someday I might not wanna play this game.” His smile stiffened, a hint of something there- fatigue, anger, exhaustion over it all. Batman didn’t utter a word, and let the Joker get back to his feet, crack his neck and rotate his shoulders as he fixed his jacket.

When he lunged, Batman didn’t have the chance to move. A fist to the gut, an elbow to the chin, and he stumbled a step back. He reached out and grasped the Joker by the collar, holding him firmly, and the Joker stared into those black eyes for a moment, before he decided the game need to _change_ and needed to change _to-nigh-t_.

He leaned in and planted his lips to Batman’s- thick with paint and tasting of blood. He pressed and pressed and barely moved, and waited to be thrown to the ground and dragged off to where-ever the Bat was going to leave him for the cops.

Instead, the fists in his shirt tightened, and a rather smooth set of lips yielded, moving ever so slightly against his own. Shocked, the Joker didn’t react at first, until a tongue traced his lips and bid them to open, lapped at the blood and tasted the salty-metal that made his body _run_.

His fingers scraped against the suit eagerly, tongue meeting Batman’s movements, the fists in his shirt opening and wrapping around him to pull his closer. Head spinning, light and floating and barely conscious, the Joker had to pull back for air as his lungs burned and he realized _he had forgotten to breathe_.

Batman’s lips were stained red, red like the Joker’s, red like the silly paper on the tree. Red like the heavy wet desire in the Joker’s gut that he had vocalized in playful taunting only. Red like the insides of the clown the Joker wished he could rip open and see and feel and fill and sink into.

When Batman closed the gap and kissed him this time, the Joker knew he’d gotten his Christmas wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What would Christmas with Batsy and Mr. J be without a little violence?


	8. Day 8 Hot Chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't have a plan for this at all, and it kinda spiraled into something longer than intended. Oh well!

It’s strange, to have his masks off in front of anyone that isn’t the family. It’s strange to feel the stuffy air of the cave against his forehead, his neck, and stare at the all too green eyes that are delving down his near black eyes and reaching into his gut, grabbing and tangling and twisting with things he didn’t know were there.

If the Joker has thoughts on Bruce’s slight costume change, he doesn’t voice them- for once. He sits on the cold table with his jacket and shirt off, freshly stitches and bandaged and _so pale_. Bruce can see his flesh rising in goose bumps from the chill that he hasn’t been able to shake from his bones- _yet he doesn’t tell him to dress_.

Bruce’s hand flex, free of his gauntlets, and he’s noy sure _what_ he’s thinking about this man that he’s decided- against better judgement- to take back to his home and bandage up, when he could have left him for the police. He wouldn’t have died- but Bruce didn’t like the idea of that scarred flesh being left torn open by bullets and shrapnel and whatnot for too long- didn’t like to see him bleed _that much_. Just a little.

Bruce was going to say something, he felt the words building on his tongue, but he’s interrupted by Alfred’s footsteps. He’s carrying a small tray, and holds it to Bruce first who takes the mug of steaming hot coffee, before walking over to the Joker- and to his credit, without a glint of fear or even judgement in his eye- and offering him the other mug. The Joker takes it, giving Alfred a mile- one not quite maniacal, yet not _quite_ normal- and Alfred is leaving the two again without a word, because he can sense the turmoil in Bruce and knows this isn’t his place.

He’ll have words later for him, though. Bruce knows he won’t get off that easily.

Bruce watches the Joker’s fingers wrap around the steaming mug- sucking in the warmth, trying to drag it down to his core, and he feels almost sorry. Why isn’t he getting dressed? Why isn’t he _telling_ him to get dressed? It’s cold and snowing outside, yet almost cold enough to not even be able to snow. Yet here he is, letting the man sit half naked and... _admiring_ him.

Yes, that’s the word, that’s what Bruce is doing, even if he won’t admit it to anyone but himself. He’s always liked something about the Joker’s built- he’s got tight, hard muscle but it’s so lean you can barely tell, with long legs and nimble fingers and a hip curve that’s impressive for a man- and if he turned, Bruce could count his vertebrae. It should be ugly, hideous, repulsive, but Bruce _likes_ it and the pale skin and the smudged make-up, no matter what he says.

“Thoughts, Batsss?” he’s asking, lifting the mug to his lips and sipping at the overly sweet liquid. Bruce can smell the chocolate, mixing in the air with the thick smell of his black coffee. It seems childish, but when he’d asked the Joker if he wanted coffee, his face and scrunched up and he’d declined- something about migraines and the like. This was the next best thing, and Bruce couldn’t deny, those eyes had light up in a childlike way when he’d been offered hot cocoa. It was almost _cute_.

Bruce sips his coffee and walks closer, until he fits between the Joker’s legs as they dangle off the edge of the table. This close, he can see the harsh line of his collar bones, the details of scars fresh and ancient- he recognizes one on his bicep from a batarang, and he reaches out with nearly hot fingers to trace it. The Joker _hisses_ , but doesn’t pull away as Bruce nearly burns his icy skin- warms it back to life.

Bruce sets his coffee to the side, watches as the Joker takes another sip, but is watching him over the lip of the cup, as his runs his fingers down his arm, tracing the crease at his elbow, a few scars on his forearm.

“This?” Bruce whispers as he traces one that looks older than time.

“Another life,” the Joker says, and Bruce remembers he was a man once, once upon a lifetime ago, he didn’t have paint of that leering smile-

But he had those too green eyes.

Bruce takes his mug and sets it aside as well, reaching up and taking his face in his hands. He can’t explain it, the desire to touch this man. It’s burned forever in his belly, hot and tight and seeping out into his veins, but he’s denied it for so long, repressed and ignored and _prayed_ it could go away. But tonight the Joker is docile, he lets Bruce touch him- and why wouldn’t he? Isn’t he always begging Bruce for his love. He’d always thought it just harassment, just a way to throw him off his game, distract him fatally- but he wonders as he strokes those painted scars on his cheeks and the Joker’s breath escapes, his lids growing heavy.

He wonders as he strokes again and leans down, breathing against his painted lips.

He wonders as he closes the gap and touches his own to them, tentatively. As they yield instantly and mold against his, oddly soft, as Bruce sets rhythm and he can feel how hard the Joker is trying to follow it- he who is erratic and free is clinging to his lead.

Bruce lets one hand sink back into those curls- wet from the snow, like icy water- and strokes the scalp beneath, making the Joker _purr_ into his mouth. He traces the man’s lower lip and he opens for him, tongue meeting his- hot, the only thing with hot on his body. He tastes like chocolate, hot and sweet and thick on his tongue, that tongue that Bruce’s strokes with his, his own bitter taste dulling everything.

When Bruce realizes he’s barely breathing, he pulls back to suck in air, and the Joker is staring at him with _those eyes_. His heart beat skips, his chest tightens, and he doesn’t have words for what is coming over him.

“You’re freezing,” Bruce says, because he _can’t_ say anything else, and the Joker gives him one of his grins that says all too plainly _you-asked-for-this-Bats_.

“I can think of a few things that’ll, ah, _warm me u-p_ , Batsy baby.”

Bruce feels his cheeks flushing and he wants to hide it and _can’t_ and the Joker is giggling. Bruce exhales, breathes in, then reaches for him, swiftly tucking his arms around the man and lifting him until he rather light body is cradled in his arms.

“You’ll never warm up down here,” he says, and what’s the harm bringing him out of the cave and to the Manor? He already knows who he is, has known for so long- it can’t hurt Bruce more.

The edges of his suit are hard and sharp- but if they bother the Joker, he isn’t letting on. He leans against Bruce’s chest and traces the symbol engraved there, and Bruce can hear him whisper, “my bat,” and doesn’t stop him, just takes him to the elevator, where the Joker wraps his arms around Bruce’s neck and kisses him- without the trepidation Bruce had had moments before.


	9. Day 9 Sweaters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweaters are one of my favorite things on the planet. I'm really proud I managed to keep this really short and didn't end up with a few thousand word story here.
> 
> Also, warning for some _slight_ crossdressing. You'll understand when you get there- I just couldn't resist myself.

“It’s...it’s...” Bruce stared at the large red sweater he was holding, complete with white trim and little embroidered elves running along the base. _Absolutely hideous_. “Festive,” he finished with a bit of a grimace, and Jack was clapping eagerly next to him on the couch.

“Put it on! We’ll both be super festive!” He already had put on his Christmas sweater- a forest green thing covered in embroidered Christmas tree decorations. In fact, his upper half just looked like a tree with the red bow he had clipped into his wild green curls. Jack had gone all out with the Christmas theme today- his legs were covered only in a pair of leggings covered in sow flake and reindeer designs, and the only way Bruce could describe it was _Christmas tribal_ \- something a teenage girl would wear. They were red and white with hints of green, and he’d completed it all with his fuzzy candy cane socks.

Bruce wondered where the hell he’d gotten all this stuff.

With a wince Bruce put the sweater on. It wasn’t uncomfortable, and it _was_ warm- but the design made him cringe again. Jack was squealing though, squirming around happily.

“Aw _baby_ , you look wonderful!” Jack threw himself onto Bruce, wrapping his arms around his neck and peppering his cheeks with kisses. Bruce chuckled, pushing on him gently but Jack just clung tighter, until his kisses ticked and Bruce was laughing while Jack wrapped around him like a silly squid.

“Master Bruce,” he heard Alfred call from the other room, “if you manage to free yourself, would you join me please?”

Bruce hollered, “one minute,” and managed to over power Jack, lovingly shoving him from his lap and onto his butt on the couch. Jack pouted and Bruce gave him one chaste kiss to his lips to tide him over, then was up and walking towards the kitchen.

“Did you see this?” Bruce asked quietly when he entered, gesturing towards the sweater he was wearing. “It’s like I’ve got Santa’s damn workshop plastered all over my whole body. How in the world did he get this?”

“We did some shopping, sir,” Alfred said, “while you were at the office the other day. Master Jack was quite in need of some new clothing, as you know, and he thought it would be just _lovely_ for you both to have some festive Christmas attire.”

There was a smirk on Alfred’s lips, and Bruce stared. “You helped him.”

“I merely said it was a lovely idea, sir.”

“Alfred,” Bruce said, “Why in the world would you ever encourage... _this_ ” He gestured to the sweater again.

“Bruce,” Alfred said- and Bruce had to listen because his voice was _serious_. “Come take a look at this.” He walked back to the doorway to the kitchen, and they peeked out to see the edge of the parlor, where the Christmas tree was.

Jack was up fussing with it, fixing decorations and all around just _admiring_ it. When he turned so they could see his face, it was peaceful- it was happy.

“Does that look like the Joker to you, sir?”

“No,” Bruce admitted. Same body, same hair, same scars- but not the same man. Someone different, someone who had been hidden beneath the washed away paint and pained smile.

“Indulge him a little,” Alfred said, “it will help him heal, sir. Indulge him if you love him.”

Bruce looked at Alfred, who was still watching Jack, his old eyes soft, dancing with the lights of the tree. And Bruce smiled- because that was acceptance, that was Alfred saying _it’s okay to love him_.

“One last question,” Bruce asked as they turned and walked back to the kitchen. “The sweaters I get. But the leggings?”

Alfred smiled. “Why sir, I know how much you seem to like his legs.”

Bruce’s cheeks flushed as Alfred turned with a chuckle, because he was _absolutely right_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And of course, sweaters means ugly Christmas sweaters!
> 
> There was also no way I wasn't putting Jack in some Christmas style leggings.


	10. Day 10 Ice Skating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could have made this so terribly dirty. I resisted for once.

Bruce kept his head dipped down as he walked. The night was cold, not unbearable, but it was weird to feel it sink in through his jacket, and not through the suit. It was weird to not be Batman.

Gotham’s outdoor ice skating arena was in sight- he could see the little fencing around it, the tables and chairs scattered around it’s oval shape.

And sitting on the fencing- waiting, ever waiting- was the Joker. He, unlike Bruce, didn’t look any different. Face paint, splatter of excessive purple clothing, messy green curls. He at least, was in character. Bruce felt like he was breaking _something_ by not being Batman, but it had to be done sooner or later. If this was ever going to work, it just had to be done.

Bruce reached up and touching the lacings to the skates he’d brought- tied together and thrown over his shoulder so he could keep his hands in his pockets. He fiddled with it was he got closer, as his heartbeat escalated. Needed something to do with his hands, something to occupy his mind.

He dropped them on one of the small tables, watched the Joker watching him, not moving. Bruce wasn’t sure what to say- how did he start this? _So, thanks for coming out tonight on this little date with me. Hope it’ll be fun. I thought it might be nice to try and be normal with you._

No, definitely not.

The Joker licked his lips and finally slid off the fencing, walking over slowly, leisurely because he _always_ had all the time in the world. It must be nice.

“Evenin’, Batsss.” How typical. Bruce smiled anyway, because at least that voice was directed at him. Oh, he was in over his head with this man, and he knew it. But he felt like a teenage girl around him, like his heart would pound right from his chest and into the open air. Like he could float up into the night sky because he was simply so _light_.

Bruce was going to ask if he’d brought them- but noticed there was a pair of skates tossed onto a nearby chair. He wouldn’t ask where the Joker got them, of course, he was just happy he’d come at all. He wasn’t sure if the man was really that interested in him beyond the cowl, but part of him hoped. Part of him also hoped he’d drop the homicidal tendencies and that Bruce could take him home and have some sort of _normal_ relationship with the man, instead of beating him to a pulp every other night it seemed.

Not that that would ever happen.

Bruce dropped into a chair and removed his shoes, lacing up the skates quickly. He’d done this plenty of times as a kid, even as an adult when whatever girl he was dating thought it would be _romantic_. Still, his hands were shaking, but it had to be form those too green eyes watching him.

The Joker waited until Bruce was tying the last knot, before he settled into his own chair, slipping the skates on. Bruce noticed they didn’t quite match- same size, slightly different faded markings and such, different color laces. One grey, one black.

Bruce walked over on his, dropping down to his knees without much thought and tying the laces. The Joker moved his hands away, sat up and watched with a little smile on his face. Bruce moved to the second one and looked up, saw something devious in those eyes.

“I could think of far more _practical_ reasons for you to, ah, be on your knees, Batsy baby.”

Bruce blushed, felt something inside him jump with embarrassment and delight. He got up quickly and walked away, trying to not let the Joker see it- but it was too late. _It was always too late_ , those eyes saw it all.

The Joker followed him as Bruce stepped onto the ice, slide calmly a few strides away. He looked back, saw the man still standing at the edge.

“Coming?” Bruce called, and the Joker clicked his tongue.

“Never done this, _Bats_ ,” he said as Bruce skated back.

“Seriously?” Bruce asked, and the Joker just shrugged a shoulder. “Okay, well, I’ll teach you then. Just step onto the ice really slowly.” The Joker did that, slid a little, and reached out, grasping Bruce’s hand. Bruce stared down at it, wished they both weren’t wearing gloves, but let their fingers entangle and pretended that maybe he could feel that skin somehow. “We’ll just go really slow,” Bruce said. “Don’t panic if you slip, it’ll only make you fall.”

Bruce held his hand as they slid along the ice carefully. The Joker’d footing was unsteady, which was something Bruce wasn’t used to, but he didn’t look panicked. Considering the beatings he got on a rather regular basis, Bruce figured a fall on the ice couldn’t be that terrifying.

“See, not so bad,” Bruce said as they completed one slow lap. “Let’s try a little faster.”

He let go of the Joker’s hand and turned,skating backwards and saw the Joker’s lips form the words, “show off,” and laughed.

“Don’t let the Bat get the better of you,” he teased, and saw those lips turn into a grin. The Joker took a few large strides after him, for a moment seemed to have control over his momentum, and then slipped. Bruce saw it and closed the gap, reaching out and letting the Joker’s body crash into his, keeping his balance and the both of them standing as he felt the man’s face nestled into the crook of his neck, one of his arms around his waist, the other clutching onto his jacket.

They stood like that, and Bruce felt his heart hammering against his ribs. The arm around his waist tightened, and those lips moved on his neck. He wasn’t sure if the Joker was speaking or smiling or kissing but _it didn’t really matter_ because he was melting all the same.

“M-maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” Bruce stammered, felt the man lift his head and nip at his earlobe. He whimpered, cursed himself because that was _not_ a Batman sound, and even if he was trying to be _Bruce_ , it still wasn’t a sound he wanted to be making.

“I think I agree, Bats,” the Joker said, his hand letting go of Bruce’s jacket and stroking up and down his chest. “I can’t very well suggest I, ah, bend you over the fence when I can’t even stay standing my-self.”

Bruce blushed more and the Joker laughed, reaching up to play with the ends of his short hair.

“I should have let you fall,” Bruce muttered as he shoved him back a but, skating the few feet back to the gate and stepping onto solid ground. The Joker was slower following, but managed and looked relieved to be off the ice.

“Oh Bruce,” the Joker said, “You act like you don’t _enjoy_ the idea. I knooow you _dooo_.”

Bruce felt his stomach tighten at the use of his _actual_ name. And yeah, who was he kidding? He loved the idea. He loved it enough to contemplate sneaking this man back to his penthouse for a few hours before dawn.

He chuckled to himself, watching the Joker fight with the knots he had tied into his skates. Well, first he’d have to get him back on his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's okay Mr. J, I can't skate either!


	11. Day 11 Caroling

Bruce shifted the paper in his hands, eyes scrolling over the lyrics as his voice rose with that of his fellow carolers. Bruce was not a fine singer, but he could pass in a large group- and since this was for charity, he couldn’t very well let that get in the way. He liked to do his part without his cowl on to help Gotham, too.

Situated by the large tree erected in the center of Gotham, he stood at the outer edge of the group, feeling faceless. They had just begun The Twelve Days of Christmas when he heard it- that familiar giggle, that almost sickeningly sweet voice calling, “Bats, heeey Batsss.”

Bruce turned to the tree, saw a set of eyes staring back at him, a dazzling white smile marred by an ugly crimson frame. He frowned and stopped singing. He _had_ to be imagining this.

“Batsss,” he called again, and Bruce knew sadly, he wasn’t.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, looking out of the corner of his eye. Lucky for him, the man next to him was enraptured within the song and didn’t notice the world turning around him in the slightest.

“Listening to you, sugar. Why, I didn’t know Bats could sing! Then again, with that echo location mess, you’ve got to have _some_ sort of voice-“

“Go away,” Bruce said, cutting him off. “I’m trying to do something nice for the city here. Can’t you go slink off somewhere and create some non-lethal mayhem that I can clean up tomorrow night?”

The Joker frowned. He was a little clearer to Bruce now, hidden in the thick branches of the tree. “Aw Bats, I just want to have a little fun with you. You always think the _absolute worst_ of me.”

“That’s because it’s normally true,” Bruce said. He looked around him, and content that no one was really watching him in the back, stepped away from the group and walked around the tree, away from prying eyes. He heard the Joker rustling around to follow him, and a moment later he emerged, pulling pine needles from his hair.

“Horrid thing,” he said, eyes the tree, but Bruce was too busy trying to stifle his laughter. The Joker shot his eyes to him. “ _What_?”

“Just...that.” Bruce said, pointing to the shiny red bulb that had snagged itself in the Joker’s curls. The Joker reached up and tore it out, tossing it away with a scowl. “Oh, lighten up a little.”

“Did the big bad Bat just tell _me_ to lighten up?” he asked, taking a step closer. His scowl turned back into a grin. “Oh _Bats_ , that was almost a joke!” He closed the gap and threw an arm around his shoulders, the other playing with the ends of his black scarf. “Do you ever wear anything that isn’t black?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, not really. I’ll take it off regardless.” He winked, and Bruce blushed and cursed himself for it, because it only ever encouraged the man. “So, how about we get out of this could and you can _sing_ me a different sort of carol, cupcake.”

“How about you go back to whatever it is you do when you don’t harrass me, and let me finish what I came out here to do,” Bruce said, despite the fact that one of his hands was tracing along the man’s waist, that he was tempted. The Joker chuckled.

“Baby, I don’t do _anything_ that doesn’t involve you.” He wrapped the end of the scarf around his hand and tugged, bringing Bruce down for a kiss. Any fight Bruce had in him died there, gave in to that Cheshire grin mouth and its warmth. Besides, they always sang the same songs every Christmas, maybe it was time to try out something _new_.


	12. Day 12 Snow Day

Bruce woke to the sounds of Jack’s little happy squeals, the bed shifting as if would hop off it, run to the window, run back, climb on to try and wake him, and then off again. He groaned and pulled the blanket up over his head, trying to ignore him because the alarm hadn’t gone off yet, he probably had another hour to sleep, but Jack grabbed the blanket and ripped it down.

“Bruce, come look!” he said, leaving the blanket pooled on the floor and Bruce frowning- cold in his pajamas. Jack was running around in just his boxer briefs and a t-shirt- Bruce wasn’t sure how he _wasn’t_ freezing.

With a grumble Bruce got up and walked over to the window, where Jack was eagerly bouncing on his feet, holding one heavy curtain open. Bruce stepped behind him and peered out at the white blanket that covered Gotham. The roads seemed to not exist in the just rising light, and the snow was still falling.

“Shit,” Bruce said, but Jack was just giggling. He slipped past Bruce and was out their bedroom door, towards the parlor. Bruce could hear the TV come on. He moved slower, walking out and seeing Alfred entering the room just as he did.

“Good morning sir,” Alfred said- and Bruce noticed he, too, wasn’t dressed yet.

“Everything is closed!” Jack said from the couch. “Roads, schools, business, it’s all closed!”

“Yeah well, I have a meeting at nine,” Bruce said, “so it better reopen.”

“Highly unlikely, sir,” Alfred said, looking at the TV. “It seems we’re in a state of emergency. Snow is supposed to continue until tonight. You won’t be able to make it to the office, unless you decide to drive the Batmobile.”

Jack laughed at that. “Oh baby, if you do that I’m putting on my make-up and riding with you. It’ll be Joker and Batsy out in a snowstorm adventure!” Jack dissolved into giggles, and Bruce shook his head.

“I’ll go cancel it,” he said, leaving to go get his phone and make the call. Alfred left the room shortly after, to get ready for the day, leaving Jack on the couch in the dark parlor, with the light of the TV and the Christmas tree.

While most of him looked forward to a day with Bruce stuck in the penthouse with him, he was somewhat sad Bruce hadn’t taken up Alfred’s idea to take the Batmobile. Sure, it was the middle of the day, but no one had to know it was Bruce still. Besides, Jack missed the way it felt to slip into that laughing state and be a pure terror. No one had to _die_ , maybe just a few fireworks. Something to let some steam off.

He twisted around on the couch when Bruce walked back in, setting his phone on the coffee table. “Well, all canceled,” he said with a sigh. “So I’m going back to sleep.”

“But...But Bruce, this is exciting! Don’t go to sleep! Let’s do something. How about a movie? Or we could go out in the snow!” Jack was nearly bouncing, and Bruce sighed.

“Jack, I just want some sleep,” he pleaded, and the boy frowned. He leaned back into the couch, folding his arms.

“Okay,” he said, “when you’re done sleeping I’ll be here.”

Bruce sighed again, unable to turn away from Jack’s pout. He walked over and reached down, scooping him up despite Jack’s squirming, and cradled his light body.

“How about this,” Bruce said, turning towards the bedroom. “I tire you the hell out, and we both sleep for a little bit.” Jack hesitated, before he reached up and played with some of Bruce’s sleep-messy hair, a devious glint in his darkening green eyes.

“One condition,” Jack said as Bruce carried him effortlessly. “I wanna bottom from the _top_ this time.”

Bruce’s cheeks flushed, and Jack giggled, his legs kicking. He wouldn’t ever turn down an advance from Bruce- even if the goal was just to tire him out so Bruce could go back to sleep- but he’d make it hell for Bruce and any modesty he had left, just the same.

Bruce closed the door with his foot, and looked at Jack one last time before he tossed him on the bed roughly, and sprang on him, leaving Jack to dissolve in a fit of gasps and giggles and strangled moans.

Oh, this was going to be _fun_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joker actually admits in _Batman Cacophony_ that he likes to bottom from the top (be it a joke or not, I don't care). I cannot resist including a line like that when possible  >.>


	13. Day 13 Vacationing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly to hot to sad. Oh dear. Also, one of the only entries to actually need the mature warning. I _could_ have gone totally explicit, but I thought that'd take away from the point at the end :(
> 
> I do sort of want to continue this idea though. Who knows.

Eyes closed, the dark cell doesn’t seem so confining. Eyes closed, it can turn into anything- that quaint little suburban house, a fancy hotel- condo on the beach. _Anything_.

He likes the idea of warmth tonight- the cold has seeped into his bones, through the nearly thread bare blanket he’s been given, through the flimsy fabric they dress him in and call _clothing_. The cold that stems from a December that thinks it’s January, from snows that come too heavy, too early. He shivers and wraps himself tighter and closes his eyes tighter.

He wonders what sun warmed sand would feel like now, against his freezing feet. Probably heavenly- yes, _yesss_ he likes heavenly. It’s heavnly and gets between his toes and he doesn’t care because it evens out the heat the sun is pressing into him. He’s got his make-up but he’s shed his clothing, he’s got a pair of purple shorts because _why the hell not this is his fantasy_ , and his fractured porcelain like skin is blissfully warm.

No one is on the sandy beach- so fine and nearly white he could blend with it. No one except him and his Bat. Oh, he’s sure Bruce has been on plenty of beaches like this, with his fair share of beautiful women- but in this fantasy, they don’t need to exist.

Bruce is reclining in a beach chair under the sun, his skin bronzing. His skin seems to glisten and the Joker is _hungry_ and thinks he looks perfectly _delectable_. He saunters over, slips down into the chair beside him, and Bruce doesn’t look or remove his sunglasses- but a small smile plays on his lips. He reaches under the beach umbrella he’s planted into the sand, into the cooler, and pulls out a bottle, passing it to the Joker. It’s icy and cold and covered in cool little droplets, but the beer is bitter and chilled in his mouth and perfect against his tongue.

He could stay forever like this- well, no not _forever_ because Bruce can’t wear the mask here, the suit- and the suit is _fun_ \- but for a good, long time. He reaches over, ghosts his fingers over Bruce’s hand, and in this world, that’s all it takes for Bruce to _know_.

He’s moving before the Joker can think, and as he settles onto the chair with him and hooks his fingers in his shorts, pulling them off as the Joker lifts his hips, he takes another sip of the beer and watches through amused green eyes. Bruce knows where he wants it- navel first, that long scar that drags down into the fine golden hair between his thighs- the gash along his hip bone, the one he got from a nasty Batarang _once upon a time_ \- before Bruce lets his tongue trace _exactly_ what is aching the Joker, before he swallows him down and the Joker tips his head back and closes his eyes against the sun and lets the warmth sink into his veins.

Bruce won’t let it end here, he knows, because that’s what _he_ wants- and in this world, if the Joker wants it, he gets it. Bruce will stop when _he’s just right there_ and force him to roll over, to lift up so his tongue can work other secret places that make him mewl and whimper and nearly _beg_ \- but only because he doesn’t mind begging the Bat, never has.

The fingers come next, two slick to start because he can take it, he’s too hot to not, and a third just when he needs it most. Bruce knows, Bruce is in tune, knows where to touch and when, how hard and how often. He’s inside the Joker in so many ways, tugging on his green curls as he pulls the Joker up against him and they move in one slow movement- he wants it to last, so Bruce wants it to last, and last, _and last and last and last_.

Footsteps echoing outside his cell pull the Joker back to his bed- the lumpy, thin mattress, and he grits his teeth and wants to skin the guard for choosing that time. He’s aching and needing, and wishing the Bat would appear tonight.

He rolls onto his side and curls up tightly, the blanket feeling as if it’s sucking the warmth _from_ him. He shivers and can’t stop and wishes he knew what it was like to be warm again, _truly warm_ , but in Arkham that won’t happen- not where he is.

If his Bat were to come, he’d be warm. The energy alone he’d need to dish out to keep up with him could turn his blood to fire- but the Bat tended to stay a moment or two, enough to pass some body heat to come. Once or twice, he’d left him with a _real_ blanket and a sad look- like he questioned if this maniac really deserved all this.

His teeth chattered and the Joker closed his eyes again. Too late, it’s too late now, his Bat won’t come. It’ll just be another cold night under Gotham, and he resigns himself to only the warmth of his mind as he shivers the night away.


	14. Day 14 Sweets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not overly happy with this one. Oh well.

He’s got him tied up- but it’s okay, it’s all _just a game_. Once upon a time it wasn’t, and the Joker would have had that _I-just-caught-the-Bat_ high, but not now. Now the high is different, the kind that leaves his stomach in hot slick knots, the kind that makes him ache and quiver.

Bruce- oh yes, he knows who is under that mask- is playing along, straining ever so slightly, glaring out from under his mask. The Joker giggles and leans down, running his fingers along the rope that binds his arms to the chair.

This was his present, this little game. Bruce had been hesitant- but oh, the holiday spirit he had to share! He agreed on the condition that the Joker behave himself- which was the condition behind their relationship anyway, but the clown agreed.

He walked away from Bruce- gave him a good view of his ass as he walked- having shed his coat and being left in just his button down and vest up top.

He had a table not far, laid out with his toys for the night. He ran his finger over the Christmas wrapping of one red velvet cupcake, before swiping his ungloved finger through the green dyed frosting and turning, walking back to Bruce. He eyed the Joker in a way that made the man shiver- in a way that would not normally fit this situation.

He slipped onto the chair, straddled Bruce’s lap, and traced the frosting onto his lips. Leaning in, he licked at it playfully, traced that mouth so used to scowls clean of the sweetness, reached up to trace it again. Bruce, however, was too fast, and he captured the Joker’s finger in his mouth, sucking on it gently- making the lithe man shiver and moan.

“Maybe you should untie me already,” Bruce whispered, releasing his finger, and the Joker slipped from his lap, retrieving the cupcake and settling back onto his lap.

“Oh Batsss, I just don’t know. Wouldn’t that spoil the _fuuun_?” He took a bite, holding himself just high enough that he wasn’t resting on Bruce’s lap. “After all, if I untied you, I’d have to share my cupcake.”

He giggled, didn’t realize where his hand was, and it cut off in a strangled, upset sound when Bruce leaned forward and took a triumphant bite. He chuckled around the cake and the Joker frowned- pouted, really.

“Oh you _jerk_ ,” he said, stuffing the rest of the cupcake into his mouth and tossing the wrapper away. His cheeks puffed out in a way that made Bruce lose himself in near hysterical laughter.

“God you look like a squirrel,” he said with a grin. “Untie me baby, let’s have some real fun now.”

The Joker finally swallowed and leaned in, wrapping one arm lazily around Bruce’s neck as he kissed him. Bruce dominated and the Joker let him without a fight _this time_ , both mouths sweet and heavy with sugar in a way that made the Joker thirsty.

His other hand played with the rope holding down one of Bruce’s arms, loosening it until he was pulling it away- not because he didn’t enjoy the big bad Bat being tied up- but because Bruce had said _baby_ and his candied core had melted into syrup and he _needed more_.


	15. Day 15 Christmas Songs

Jack was sitting on the couch as the music filled the air, swaying calmly and smiling. He had the stump of a candy cane in his mouth, filling him with a sugary sweet peppermint taste, while Bruce was sitting on the opposite couch, wrapping a rather large box.

“You know honeybunny, you can have people professionally wrap that,” Jack pointed out as the song ended and another began on the station. Bruce looked up, quite obviously frustrated.

“Or you could give me a hand, you know.”

“It’s not like you couldn’t afford it,” Jack continued, until the music grew louder. With a silly smile he sang, “Rudolph the red-nosed reindeeeeeer, had a very shiiiinyyyy nooooose!”

Bruce scowled, looking back at the gift. He was donating a pile of toys for the holiday to a charity, and was working on wrapping them. So far, this was only the third one- the other two had taken an embarrassingly long time, and the wrap-job was rather...below adequate.

Jack must have given up on his candy cane and crunched the last bit, because he was singing at the top of his lungs now, on his knees on the couch, and Bruce wanted to give him a good punch for ole time’s sake to shut him up. He should have sent him out with Alfred shopping- he could have had some peace.

“Jack-“ Bruce started, taping down the piece of wrapping paper, “shut the hell up.”

“But _Bruuuuciieeee_ , you have to sing along with Christmas songs. I think there’s a rule somewhere. We could look it up.”

Bruce shook his head, and was silently grateful when the song ended, only to have another begin. Hack was quiet, not knowing this one, and Bruce smiled.

“I don’t know this one,” Jack admitted, furrowing his brow, and Bruce set aside his project, getting up and settling in on the couch couch next to Jack.

“It’s Christmas in Killarney,” he said, “it’s older, not really commercial. My father had it on a record. I remember him playing it.” He leaned back, and Jack took advantage, slipped right onto his lap, and Bruce wrapped on arm around his waist.

Bruce was humming along- something Jack hadn’t seen him do to any of the songs all morning, his eyes rich with a sort of sparkle that made them seem such a rich chocolate brown. He smiled and snuggled up closer, felt Bruce tapping his foot along.

“It’s Christmas in Killarney, with all of the folks at home,” Bruce sang, rather in key and softly, and Jack giggled and smiled and stroked his chest lovingly. He didn’t speak- for once- and let Bruce enjoy the song, until it finally ended and switched into a rendition of Silent Night.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing,” Jack said, and Bruce blushed.

“Well I- sorry, I didn’t mean to.” Jack giggled.

“Oh pah-leeeaaase, babydoll, I was _enjoying_ it.” Jack stroked his cheek, leaned in and kissed him softly. Bruce tightened his hold around his waist and held him- to Jack’s surprise- and deepened the kiss, tasted the sugary sweet peppermint on Jack’s tongue.

Jack forgot to breathe, and had to gulp down air when Bruce released him, making him chuckle. Jack slid off his lap, walking over to the half wrapped present, and picked up the tape.

“C’mon cupcake,” he said, “I’ll help you finish this.”

Bruce switched couches and let Jack’s nimble fingers do most of the work, a smile plastered on his face now. He’d didn’t like to open up about his past still, but somehow just that little admission, that the song meant something, made him fee lighter, better, calmer with Jack. And now, hearing Jack sing along to the rest of the songs, off key as usually but giggly and bubbly, he couldn’t scowl, he couldn’t find even a hint of annoyance.

He just found love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Christmas in Killarney" is actually my favorite Christmas song. My dad has it on an old record, and when I was little, we used to sit in his room and listen to it. So, this one was actually a littler personal :)


	16. Day 16 Christmas Cards

Bruce can hear Christmas caroling on the streets, can hear laughing and the sound of snow crunching under boots, being compacted under gloves. It’s dark, but it’s not Bat hour, though he’s suited up and on patrol. He has to be, after that morning.

He’d found it on his desk, an unmarked Joker card, with a Santa hat drawn on the chaotic figure. It could only be the Joker- it seemed it could _ever_ only be the Joker these days, and Bruce’s stomach was doing flips. The man was terrifying, but so alluring, and he always hated when it was the Joker he had to chase, because he enjoyed it _just too much_.

The card had included Christmas tree drawn on the reverse side, so Bruce had made his way to the center of Gotham, to the giant tree, and perched atop a ledge to gaze down at it. As expected, he’d found another on there, this time with a few poorly drawn snow covered trees and a snowman. So, it _was_ a game- it always was. It’d been an even more intimate game ever since the Joker put two and two together, knew that it was Bruce under the suit. Now he could start the games earlier- play while Bruce wasn’t the Bat yet.

Bruce’s brow furrowed. Trees and a snowman? Where were there that many trees in Gotham? _The park_. It had to be, and it wasn’t too far. Bruce tucked the card away and was off, making record time as he hopped down and his boots crunched into the fresh snow. At this hour it was deserted, thankfully, and he walked in the open with an air of caution, while his heart was beating in excitement.

When he saw it in the distance, he knew he’d been right. One lone snowman. He tried to keep himself at a walk, despite wanting to sprint, and when he reached it saw the saw the little card tucked into the snow of its chest. He pulled it out, and instead of a scribbled picture, it had a scrawling note, _Deeper, baby xoxox_.

Bruce’s cheeks flushed, and he felt that familiar feeling of blood leaving his brain, pooling in his gut to make those knots slick, heading lower because he was excited and _he couldn’t deny that to himself_. He hated it, he loved it- he wanted to take the madman up on his flirtatious offers, but he _know better_.

Well, supposedly.

Bruce continued on, walking through the darkness, hearing the trees rustle in the wind. The city lights seemed to fade around him, and he wondered just _how deep_ he should be going, until he heard it. A low giggle, a familiar sound that set his entire being on fire.

Bruce turned, but too slowly, and he was just _there_ , with no space between them, staring with those too green acidic eyes, smile huge and blazing white in a red frame.

“Hellooo, Batsss,” he said, and Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat. Before he could move, the Joker had tightened his muscles, closed the gap and thrown himself on him, shoving him to the snowy ground. He straddled his hips and laughed. “Off your game tonight, cupcake?”

He had a blade, and Bruce didn’t know where it came from.

“Or are you just drunk on the, ah, _Christmas Spirit_?” He ran the blade gently along the armor on his chest, watched it stick against the edges before jumping free. “See, I’m a bit of the _jealous sorts_ baby, and the only thing I want you drunk on-“ he leaned down, so close Bruce could feel his breath on his lips, “ _is me_.”

Bruce waited, on bated breath, wondered if finally, something would come of those threats, those flirtatious advances that left him crippled with aching need at the end of the night.

Maybe it was in his eyes, dark and crackling, maybe something in the line of his soft mouth, but the Joker let his smile falter for a second, before one hand gripped Bruce’s chin and held him steady as he closed to gap, kissed that mouth with a ferocity Bruce had never know. He groaned, opened his mouth to the man, bucked up against him and let the Joker have him.

He tasted sweet- Bruce knew he would- moved erratically- not a surprise- and dominated him in a way Bruce had never known. He explored Bruce’s mouth and _opened him up_ in a way that was almost horrifying, took Bruce’s ever breath and sigh, until he was choking in an airless grip.

When that mouth released him, the Joker had a different sort of smile on his face. The kind that was soft, real- it wasn’t terrifying, it was human. He ran the back of his hand along Bruce’s cheek.

“Should have done that, ah, a long time ago,” the Joker confessed, tossing his blade away and resting his other hand in the snow next to Bruce. Bruce smiled.

“Yeah, you should have.”

He giggled, settled back and pulled something from his jacket pocket. One final Joker card. He reached down, pressed it to Bruce’s hand, and Bruce sat up, gently forcing the Joker to straddled his thighs as he looked at it. There was no drawing again, just a smudged, red kiss mark and the words _Merry Christmas Batsy_.

Bruce looked at the Joker, who shrugged one shoulder, before Bruce wrapped his arms around him, kissed him in a searching, needing way, until the Joker was the one sighing into it, as Bruce traced his tongue along the scars inside his cheeks.

“Let’s get out of the cold,” Bruce said.

“Is that an invitation?” the Joker asked, one delicate eyebrow raised.

“It’s a plea,” Bruce admitted, “come home with me.”

However stupid it was, Bruce didn’t care. He pulled the man to him and held him for a moment, felt the way his lithe muscle wound around bone under flesh, the way he’d twitch from time to time- a ticking time bomb of endless erratic energy. And he just didn’t care, he just wanted to take him home, and give in to all the insanity inside his own body- the need and desire and love and countless, nameless things that coursed through his blood at the mere _thought_ of this man.

As they got up, Bruce tucked the last joker card away with the rest, gauntletted fingers caressing them gently. They were the best Christmas cards he’d ever gotten.


	17. Day 17 Family Time

Bruce was hunched over his desk, eyes scanning over what felt like an endless page. Outside it was dark, nearly black, the velvety sky littered with stars and snowflakes. The ground was covered with a thick, white blanket- almost untouched in many places.

The office was nearly deserted- Christmas was close, and everyone was out finishing their shopping. Bruce, having no children, no family, was sitting at his desk working away at the clock struck eight because _what else was he going to do_?Gotham had been oddly quiet, and he could afford a night out of one suit and in another.

He sighed, lifted his mug to his lips, and realized he was out of coffee. With a frown he pushed himself form his desk, mug in hand, and headed out of the office, towards the tiny conclave where the machine was. He worked like a machine- mug down, hit a button to brew some fresh coffee.

When he turned, Bruce lost the machine feeling and gasped- a set of icy emerald eyes staring into him, a big grin plastered on a scarred face.

“Hi there Brucie,” the Joker said, leaning his hip against the counter. His hair and shoulders were dusted with snow, so Bruce knew he couldn’t have been there long. His face though- it pulled him in, it was _different_. It lacked the usual paint- his lips were done up in an alluring, kissable red- but the paint wasn’t drawn over his scars, he hadn’t set his face in white, and the black around his eyes was minimal- smudged, actually _stylish_.

“What are you doing here?” Bruce asked, scowling now that the shock had worn off. He couldn’t deal with the clown now- he needed to get work done.

“You haven’t come play with me in _days_ ,” the Joker whined, inching closer. “I’m getting restless baby- and you know what happens when I get _restless_.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. He did- he knew all too well. The Joker wasn’t someone you wanted bored- but he’d been rather good lately, Bruce could admit that. And he hadn’t been out in the suit in a few days, hadn’t gone and sought him out for their sordid little games that he wasn’t always entirely sure really happened.

“Well, I have work to do,” Bruce said, “so go entertain yourself- _without_ harming anyone- for the night. Maybe tomorrow.”

The Joker rolled his eyes and walked past Bruce, opened the little fridge and pulled something out. He shoved Bruce aside, poured a cup of the coffee- Bruce noticed it smelled different, had a chocolaty sweet scent to it- and dumped something into it.

“You’ll work yourself _to death_ sugar,” the Joker said, pulling something from his pocket.

“Is that-“

“A candy cane, or am I just happy to see you?” The Joker grinned. “This is sadly just candy, but if you wanna reach inside my pocket, I’m sure they’ll be other surprises for you.” He winked, and Bruce’s cheeks flushed. The Joker unwrapped the candy, tossed the plastic behind him, and stuck it in the mug, stirring the coffee around. The air smelled like peppermint, mixed with chocolate and a hint of coffee. “Here, at least drink something festive.” He pushed the mug towards Bruce, who raised an eyebrow, then took it, taking a sip.

“This is,” he licked his lips, “actually pretty good.” He smiled, and the Joker grinned. “Oh hell, come back to my office with me. But don’t make me regret it.” The Joker clapped excitedly and followed Bruce, settled on the edge of the desk as Bruce returned to his papers.

“You know, Christmas is about spending time with your _family_ Batsy,” the Joker said, twirling one of his long, green curls.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have family,” he said, “and what would you know about what Christmas is about.”

“Oh Bats, I’m hurt!” He said, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “I have a heart too, and you just shatter it in your big, strong, vice-like grip!” He flopped back, onto Bruce’s papers, giggling, and Bruce shoved him gently, trying to move him. The Joker just grinned and held fast, staring up at Bruce. “I can be your family, Bats,” he said, matter-of-factly, and Bruce stopped.

He stared down, studied that face, those serious eyes- _they were never serious_ \- and a thought dawned on Bruce. Maybe that was why he looked different- had done himself up in a way that was _pretty_ \- had shown up and gently pushed. Maybe that was why he clung so desperately to Bruce, made those soft whimpers when he had to leave.

Bruce was all the family he had in the world. In a sick, twisted way, they _had_ to be family.

Bruce reached out, pressed a hand against the Joker’s belly, flexed his fingers in the layers of clothing, still somewhat cold from the night air.

“If you move,” Bruce said, “I can get my paperwork, and we can head somewhere more comfortable for the night. Maybe my place...” The Joker sat up slowly, watched Bruce through thick, blonde lashes, and Bruce felt mesmerized.

“I thought you had work to do.” Bruce shrugged a shoulder.

“You’re right, Christmas is about spending time with my family.” He found the Joker’s hand, tangled their fingers together. “So, what do you say, come home with me?” Bruce asked, watched the Joker’s lips twitch up as he nodded, and Bruce knew, as disturbing as it was, _this_ was his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered pulling in the whole Batfamily, but decided I really wanted to keep this as Joker/Batman focused as possible (with Alfred, of course. I have to include him in like, everything.)


	18. Day 18 Day Off

Bruce averted his eyes from the guards as they searched the bag, gave each other questioning glances. Ultimately, everything was deemed harmless and handed back to him, and he was escorted through the halls of Arkham by one of the on duty doctors.

“I can’t say I understand, Mr. Wayne,” he began, “why you’d want to come see such a maniac. But I’m in no position to deny a man of your...influence.”

They stopped at a thick, metal door. The wing itself felt nearly deserted- it was meant for only those deemed to be the biggest threat to security. Of course the Joker would be housed here.

Bruce had had to pull a lot of strings to arrange this meeting. Had he requested to see him in a visitation cell, it may have been easier- but he wanted ultimate privacy. He wanted to be in the Joker’s personal cell. He could, of course, have returned at night as Batman, but he didn’t want to wear the mask for this. It would just get in the way of what he wanted to do.

“If you need anything,” the doctor said, fingers poised over the keypad that could unlock the door, “you use that pager we gave you. The guards will be here in seconds.”

“Of course, thank you.” The doctor nodded, punched in a code, and the door opened. Bruce gave him one last look, then walked into the dimly lit cell, heard the door close behind him.

“Joker,” he said, when he wasn’t greeted within a few seconds, and the figure that was lounging on the cot in front of him turned and stared _into_ him.

“Hi there, Batsss,” he said, sitting up, his curls falling around his face and shoulders. “Fancy seeing you here _no-t_ in costume.” He grinned, patted the spot next to him on the cot. “Come sit down, I won’t bite.”

“That’s a lie,” Bruce said as he walked over and sat down anyway. The Joker giggled.

“You know me _too well_ sugar.” He leaned back, and Bruce watched that lithe body stretched out, hidden under the ugly, overly large orange pants and the faded white t-shirt the Joker had been issued.

“I didn’t mean for you to end up back in here,” Bruce admitted, and the Joker raised an eyebrow.

“ _Reall-y_ , Bats? Well, you can break me out at any _time_.”

“You can probably break yourself out at anytime.” The Joker giggled.

“Clev-er as always, Batsy. If you’re not here to break me out what, ah, _are_ you here for.”

Bruce shifted around, opened up the bag he’d brought. “I...I felt bad, you being stuck here with Christmas coming up and all. I...I brought you some cookies.”

The Joker raised one delicate eyebrow, then burst out laughing when Bruce pulled the small plate of cookies out. He wrapped his arms around his stomach as it shook him, and Bruce dropped his gaze.

“Oh batsy baby, you are _too_ much.” He waited for Bruce to get angry- to show him a flash of the Bat- but it never came. Bruce looked genuinely sad- and after a moment the Joker’s smile faltered. “You’re being sincere, aren’t you Bats?”

“Absolutely,” Bruce said. “No one deserves to be alone for the holidays. You’ve done some shit, but I make you pay for it.”

“Every night, on my back.” The Joker winked, and Bruce’s face tinged a cute shade of pink. The Joker reached out, traced his fingers up Bruce’s arm. They were cold- Bruce realized it was just too cold in this cell. He wondered if the man was ever warm. “Did Jeeves help you make them?”

“If Alfred didn’t, they’d be black as coal.” The Joker laughed, twisting around until he had thrown his legs over Bruce’s lap. “Well than Batsy, thanks for the holiday sugar rush. Though, they won’t taste as good as _you >_ do. So how about bustin’ me outta here for my real present?”

“How about this,” Bruce said, reaching out to play with a few of the Joker’s curls. “If you break out _without_ causing too much damage, or killing anyone, and I’ll chase you _all. Night. Long._ ” The Joker shivered, and Bruce had to laugh, squeezing one of his thighs with his other hand- not bothering to stop and wonder how he ever got himself into a mess like this.

“I like it Bats,” he said, “clearing out your whole nightly schedule just for me. Speaking of, how did you, ah, manage to find time for this little visi-t?”

“I took a day off,” Bruce said, and the Joker gave him a warm, genuine smile.

“You should take more off, than.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _really_ want to write a fic taking place mostly in Arkham now...


	19. Day 19 Bundled Up

The punch that landed to Bruce’s jaw set fire through his bones. His head jerked back and he growled, lowering it to glare forward at the giggling clown.

“Now let me kiss it and make it all bet- _ter_.” He laughed, and Bruce lunged forward, punching him in the gut, and then in the jaw when he doubled over. He was knocked off his feet, landed on his back in the snow, head tipped back and too green eyes closed. Bruce waited for him to move, and when he didn’t so much as twitch, he relaxed his muscles.

Bruce walked over, crouched down next to him, gripped his chin and turned his head. The Joker’s face was slack, and Bruce realized he must have hit him hard enough to knock him out. Good. He could call Gordon and get the lunatic locked up with plenty of the night to spare.

He pulled one of his gauntlets off to double check the man’s pulse, and his fingers met freezing skin. Bruce pulled back for a moment- couldn’t believe anyone alive could be so cold. He reached out again, found his pulse calm, slow, but there as expected. His fingers lingered on that neck, traced up it gently, along one scarred, painted cheek.

Bruce felt bad for a moment, despite himself. For a moment he wondered where the Joker was when he wasn’t terrorizing the city- or really, chasing him. Where was he to get out of the freezing December weather, to escape the wind and the snow that was falling again? By the way his skin felt, he was sitting in the thick of it without so much as a place to huddle that was dry.

Bruce realized he was stroking one long scar along the man’s cheek, and froze. His crouch turned to a kneel, and he pulled his other gauntlet off, leaving them in the snow as he reached up and unfastened his cape. Holding it over one arm, he hook an arm around the Joker’s limp body and pulled his torso up, slipping it around his shoulder and wrapping it around him, his hands rubbing up along his arms to create some heat.

All the while, he stared at that red mouth. Redder than usual, it was stained with blood from his last punch, and Bruce reached out, running his thumb over those lips. They felt oddly soft beneath the paint- not what he had expected. For a moment, Bruce wondered-

_No_. He shook his head. No way, he was out of his mind. And yet-

Bruce leaned closer, let his warm breath ghost over them, his thumb returning to one long, puckered scar. His fingers were stained with paint, and he was beginning to see flesh beneath- though it was hard to discern, it was so pale, both naturally and from the cold.

Another breath, and Bruce closed the gap, pressed his lips like feathers against the Joker’s. His other hand reached up and he cupped his face, pressed closer, closed his eyes as he enjoyed the still silk against his aching mouth-

When those lips moved, Bruce’s eyes shot open. So close, it was hard to see anything, but he could make out a flash of beautiful green, and then those lips were pressing against his, the body below him moving-

_Closer_. Bruce let his fingers splay out along the man’s jaw bone and neck, tilted his head back so snow twisted in his hair, pressed his tongue past the barrier of those soft, red lips. He tasted like copper and iron and Bruce drank it down as the Joker allowed him to- as he mirrored Bruce’s movements in an oddly calm, submissive way, letting _him_ explore, letting _him_ taste.

When Bruce finally pulled back, he was panting- warm, ghostly white tufts of air that hit those red lips that were curving into a grin. Bruce should have wanted to punch that grin, should have wanted to split that face open- but all he wanted was to kiss him again.

“You’re freezing,” Bruce finally said, and the Joker wiggled a little inside the cape, arms moving and fingers closing around the edges to pull it around himself tighter.

“You’re uh, fixing that, Batsss.” His tongue flicked out against his lips. “How very _kind_ of you.”

“You could die of hypothermia.” It was stupid- it felt like the stupidest thing Bruce could be saying, but his mind couldn’t handle what he’d done. He couldn’t wrap his thoughts around it- that the blood on his tongue was the Joker’s, was sucked straight from a grinning, giggling, soft, warm, yielding-

_His mouth. Get a grip, Bruce._

The Joker laughed. “Then warm me up a little, baby.”

Bruce bit his lower lip before he realized it, cursed himself for showing any response to the man. “I can take you to Arkham- they’ll warm you up.”

This laugh was dry. “It’s colder in that little cell, Batsy darling. No, I’ll just stick with your cape. It smells like you, you know.” He winked, pushed up on Bruce, who was straddling him, until he was sitting too, wrapping his arms around Bruce’s broad shoulders so the cape covered them both. “So, like a said Bats- how about you warm me up a little? Get out of the snow and bundle up somewhere- just you, me, some skin, and this old cape of yours.”

His smile was a cocky smirk- and Bruce leaned forward before he knew what he was doing, crashed their mouths together and held him and realized he wasn’t all that cold now- Bruce’s heat was seeping into him, and his skin was even more alluring with that hint of life flowing in it.

Bruce knew he’d do exactly what the man suggested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I might take a lot of these and turn them into actual fics, instead of short little things. God this is such fun!


	20. Day 20 Matching Outfits

Bruce walked out of his bathroom, furiously toweling his hair dry, cursing because he had set his alarm wrong, and his meeting was in an hour, not two. He walked naked through his room, unable to see past the soft blue plush of the towel, until he pulled it away and looked to his bed, where he’d left his suit, ready to go.

Bruce froze, dropped the towel. The clothing had changed- ever so slightly. The tie was now green, set with rich argyle prints, and the shirt was now a rich, royal purple. Everything had been black and white fifteen minutes ago when he got in the shower.

Bruce whipped around, jaw dropping _ever so slightly_ at the man that was standing in his bedroom, as if he had _always_ been there. The Joker was smiling, parts hidden in the deep shadows of Bruce’s dark room.

“What are you doing here?” Bruce asked, and the Joker’s eyes roved over his naked body- taking their time in a way that made Bruce’s skin flush slightly.

“Why Brucie _dar-ling_ , just stopping by.” He took a step closer, and Bruce noticed he was dressed darker than usual. His purple pants and jacket had been traded in for a rather fitted- _very_ fitted if Bruce were to allow his mind to process how his eyes raked over those legs- pair of black pants and a matching black jacket. It looked similar to what Bruce had laying on his bed- in fact, the shirt was the same rich purple, the tie the same print and colors-

_They were exactly the same_.

“You wear too much _black_ ,” the Joker said, stepping closer- closing the gap and reaching out, tapping his fingers against Bruce’s hard chest. “You need a _little_ color cupcake. Though, black is rather slimming.” He held his arms out, looked down at his lithe body. “What do you think? Should I have a wardrobe change?”

“You should get out,” Bruce said, “don’t you hole up somewhere during the day?”

The Joker _tsked_. “Och Bruce, that’d hurt if I knew you didn’t mean it. You don’t want me to go anywhere. In fact, you’re happy to see me.”

Inside, Bruce cursed. Inside, Bruce knew he was right- his chest tightened when he saw the man uncontrollably, left his stomach fluttery. But he wouldn’t admit that- not to the cause of it all, the very man whose face he had broken and bloodied countless times, still did at times before they fell into clumsy kisses and fumbling hands.

“Your silence tells me I’m, ah, right, sugar.” The Joker tapped his chest again, ran his finger down along Bruce’s stomach- felt the muscle beneath, the way his very skin reacted. “Humor me baby, put it on. You’ll turn heads _aaaaaalll_ over Gotham.” He smirked, and Bruce swallowed the lump ins his throat and reached blindly for the clothes.

Once he was dressed, Bruce looked at himself in the mirror- fought down a smile because he didn’t want the Joker to see that he didn’t actually dislike it. It was, after all, still mostly black.

“Mmmmm, how _ex-quisite_ , Bats,” he said, wrapping his arms around Bruce from behind and looking at him. Bruce tilted his head, felt those painted lips find skin, and relaxed, closing his eyes. “How about coming out to play tonight in _thisss_?”

“Do you promise to behave if I do?” Bruce asked, meeting the man’s eyes in the mirror.

“Only if you let me take it off later.”

Bruce shivered- he couldn’t fight it, and the Joker grinned, not needing his answer. He released Bruce and stepped back slowly as Bruce concentrated on straightening his tie, making sure everything was straight and wrinkle free.

“So where should I find you?” Bruce asked, and met only silence. He turned around, found his room empty, and sighed. He could take a tip or two from the Joker on surprise entrances and exits, it seemed.

Still, Bruce smiled a little, and decided he didn’t have any real qualms sowing up for his meeting like this. He even left the smudge of red on his neck- let them all wonder who it was from, they’d never guess.


	21. Day 21 Party

Jack leaned against the bar and sipped at his champagne, offering smiles and nods of greeting to those who passed him and bothered to look. For the most part though, no one did, and he stood there on his third glass of champagne, watching as Bruce walked around the room greeting everyone- shaking hands, stopping to talk.

This was his first appearance at a Wayne Enterprises Holiday party. The prior year, he still had a painted face and knives in every pocket, and hadn’t been arm candy material. This year, while his hair was still green and his eyes lined in a smokey black, he had cleaned up, left the purple suit behind in favor of a black one- though he had insisted on the purple button down, which he had left the top few buttons open on, and had opted for no tie. Bruce, while he had approved of how Jack looked, hadn’t thought it the bet idea for the party. Still, he’d caved- because he didn’t want Jack to ask to pull out the purple trench coat that he knew Bruce kept hidden away in the batcave.

A waiter stopped and offered to take Jack’s champagne glass and give him a fresh one. Jack down the last bit and took him up on the offer, smiled his thanks, and the waiter grinned back.

“You seem a bit out of place,” he admitted, and Jack chuckled.

“Captain obvious, huh? I wouldn’t disagree, though.” The waiter set his tray down on the bar, leaned against it to eye Jack.

“You know, if you’re bored enough, I could probably think a few things to liven up the night.” The guy reached out, danced his fingers along Jack’s arm, and Jack raised one delicate eyebrow. The _last_ thing he had expected was someone that wasn’t Bruce to come onto him- especially with his scars out, plain as day.

“I,” Jack started, trying to think of the nicest way to turn the guy down, when he felt an arm slip around his shoulders, and Bruce’s cologne wafted over him in a sweet, warm scent.

“Jackie,” he said, “Come over this way, I want you to meet someone baby.” Bruce began to pull him away, and Jack smiled at the waiter- not having to say a word now.

Bruce took his hand and guided him through the room. “So, who am I meeting?” Jack asked as he was escorted from the main gala and outside, onto the balcony. It was freshly covered with a light layer of snow, and flakes were drifting through the pleasantly cold air.

Bruce, instead of answering, pulling him over and crashed their lips together. Jack lost his breath, reached up with his free hand and clutched at Bruce’s shirt, holding on for dear life as he desperately kissed back, knees going weak. When Bruce let him breathe, he was dizzy.

“No one,” Bruce admitted with a smug grin, “I just didn’t want that guy flirting with you.” Jack rolled his eyes, shoving Bruce gently by the shoulder.

“Oh _relax_. I could have gotten him away on my own.” Jack grinned and Bruce watched as the snowflakes tangled in his hair and eyelashes- as one landed on the tip of his nose, and leaned down, kissing it away.

“If you say so,” he whispered, “Now, how about you walk the rounds with me and say hi to some people.”

“For real this time?” Jack asked, and Bruce nodded. He shrugged a shoulder. “I guess so, not that any of them seem all that interested in me.”

“They don’t have to be,” Bruce said, “I’m interested enough for the whole city.” Jack smiled and walked in with him, felt Bruce’s hand stroking the slight curve of his waist, felt those eyes as they’d glance over, take in the curve of his collar bone that peeked out from his shirt, the pale skin of his neck. Jack never even noticed the snow that left his curls slightly damp as he walked around the room- because those eyes kept him fiery hot.


	22. Day 22 Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really ended up not focusing on food as much as it should have, but oh well. I just wanted something sweet and quick.

The Joker nearly breaks down the heavy wooden door to the old apartment complex, stumbling inside and slipping on the snow caked into his shoes. He landed on his left hip and cried out, anger and frustration welling in him. He dragged himself back up, forced the door closed, is encased in the chilling darkness of the old building.

He made his way for the stairs, going up them slowly, the cold settling into his bones. He’s been forced into this hide out due to the storm- it’s brutal outside, so cold his teeth chatter no matter what he does, the snow so thick he can barely see. He shakes form from his curls and growls, because he won’t get warm tonight, won’t even eat. He’s got hide outs all over the city, but this one is new and not ready. It’s not even really livable, but it’s a roof.

He might be in a better mood if he’d seen the Bat, gotten to have a little dance with him, but even that had been futile. He’s tried, had planned on some mayhem- but the city was so dead due to the storm that it was pointless. It was just all pointless.

He kicked open the only door not boarded up in the building, and froze. The room itself was pleasantly warm- unlike the chilly hallway behind him. The Joker pulled the door closed, and flicked the light one- silently glad he’s gone ahead and gotten from room hooked up to an old generator.

There was a space heater in the center of the room, blasting out heat that was warming up the tiny, closet like apartment. In fact, it was only one room, and a bathroom. The Joker had left the other rooms boarded up because he didn’t need them- and it made the place seem even less inhabited, least anyone stumble in.

His eyes left the heater, and he looked at the small bed he had under the half boarded up window. Atop it was a mound of blankets- plush and thick, and _not_ the thread bare mess he had left behind.

He clicked his tongue, slipped his jacket off and tossed it onto a small chair he had set up in front of an old, cracked wooden desk- would have walked right over to the bed had his eyes not watched the purple move, caught sight of what was on the desk.

He turned, walked to that instead, stared at the huge brown paper bag sitting there. He pulled on one corner, peered inside skeptically, stopped and raised his eyebrows at the sight of all the little plastic and white containers. _Dinner?_

“What the hell,” he muttered, and saw a piece of folded paper sticking out from under the bag. He pulled it out, unfolded it, read the nice, neat hand writing-

_I knew you’d get yourself stuck here. You think I can’t predict you- but I can. I also knew you’d starve yourself to death or freeze. Take better care of yourself, or someday I’ll get the best of you._

_\- Bats_

The Joker chuckled, folded the note up and slipped it into his pocket, fingers caressing it one last time because _Bats_ had touched it. Then, he walked over to the bed, kicking his shoes off and slipping under the pile of blankets. The food would be there, the scent of Bruce’s cologne on the blankets, mixed with just a hint of that chemically Kevlar smell, might leave if he didn’t get there fast enough.


	23. Day 23 Mistletoe

Bruce’s boots crunched in the heavy snow as he made his way through the unshoveled, unplowed streets of Gotham. It was still too late in the night- or too early in the morning, seeing as it was about two AM, for anyone to do anything about the blanket of snow that had fallen during the evening over the city.

He was alright with that, though. It meant everyone was in doors- which was safer. As it was, he was hot on the Joker’s coat tails, and the last thing he wanted were innocent civilians stepping in. Those coat tails just disappeared down an ally, and Bruce picked up the pace, rounding the corner and skidding to a sudden stop.

The Joker was just standing there, underneath the fire escape, grinning. He motioned him closer with his finger, and Bruce narrowed his eyes. What was the clown planning? Bruce was cautious as he walked towards him, saw the man’s grin broaden. Bruce stopped just inches from him, waited, muscles tight as springs, for the man to move, to strike or flee- but he just stood there, started giggling.

“What?” Bruce asked, and the Joker lifted his hand and pointed above them with one single finger. Bruce’s eyes followed the digit up, stared at the little tuft of leaves that was strung up above them- a rich green against the grey and dirty white of the city. “Is...that-“

“Mistletoe?” The Joker said, his voice a sing-song melody in the cold air. “Oh it is, cupcake. And it seems we’re, ah, under it. Together.” His eyebrows raised and he clapped his hands together. “You uh, know the tra-dition, _right Batsss_?”

Bruce’s scowl didn’t change, and he wondered what the clown was playing at. He didn’t really mean for him to pucker up and kiss him under the mistletoe like a high school crush. No, there had to be more. There was always more.

“If you’re shy Bats, I can, ah, lead,” the Joker offered, leaning just a bit closer. Bruce stared into those eyes, wasn’t sure what he saw there, but knew he needed some sort of lead as to what the man was planning. So he’d play along- but only because he had no other ideas.

Bruce leaned forward, pecked his lips against the Joker’s for the quickest of movements, then pulled back. The Joker frowned, narrowing his eyes.

“ _That’s_ what you call a kiss, Bats?” He laughed. “Let a real man show how to do it.” The Joker’s voice had dropped low when he spoke, and it sent an odd chill through Bruce’s spine. The man reached up, grasped Bruce’s face and pulled him down, pressing their lips together. Bruce felt sparks explode behind his eyes as that mouth dominated his, as a tongue traced his lips and begged entrance and _he was giving it without knowing why_. The Joker crashed their chests together as his tongue memorized every inch of Bruce’s mouth, the tastes and textures, until Bruce was whimpering and cursing himself for such a broken sound.

He reached up and clutched as the Joker’s arms, onto his coat, and kept his hands from moving- the palms warm and gloveless for once against the bit of skin exposed on Bruce’s face. When the Joker did release his mouth, Bruce was panting, could see his breath in the air, as it rushed against the Joker’s painted mouth. A smiling, painted mouth.

“That was better,” he said, “A little more practice and maybe you could make my toes curl.”

Bruce furrowed his brow. “Is that a challenge?” he asked, and the Joker cracked a grin.

“Oh Batsss, of _course_ it is. But you’d only ask that if you were, _entertaining_ the idea of kissing me again.” His tongue darted out, licked his lips, and Bruce felt something inside his gut stirring. He released the Joker’s arms, reached out and wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling them flush together as the Joker’s arms wrapped around his neck.

“What is I was?” Bruce murmured, wondering if the man had managed to drug him somehow.

“Why darling, I’d wonder what was taking you so long.” Bruce smirked and leaned down, pressing his mouth to the Joker’s passionately, holding tightly as the wind picked up, blew the mistletoe from its make-shift hanging and off into the snow.


	24. Day 24 Receiving Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of Day 3! :D

Jack was nestled on the couch, a glass of wine in hand, giggling as Alfred was telling him a story of a snow storm from when he was a kid, and the mischief he got into during and after. Bruce was watching from a distance, fingers drumming on his wine glass, barely touched. He’d barely been able to force himself to eat at dinner- which made him feel bad because Alfred had put his heart into the meal, and it _had_ been deliciously- what he tasted, anyway.

He was too worried thinking about Jack’s present- the little box sitting in his room, the bracelet wrapped inside. And more importantly, the question of Jack moving in. He was here more often than not, it wouldn’t be much of a change- but maybe Jack didn’t want to. Maybe the man liked his space- which was funny to think about, since when he had still paraded around as the Joker space from Bruce was the last thing he wanted.

“You’re too much,” Jack said, before he finished off his wine. He untangled from the blanket and got up, motioning for Alfred’s wine glass.

“Allow me-“

“Oh please,” Jack said with a laugh, “let someone do something for you for once.” Alfred smiled and passed him the glass, and Jack was off towards the kitchen, giving Bruce a dazzling smile on the way. The moment he was gone, Bruce walked over to Alfred.

“I never thought I’d say this, sir,” Alfred said, “but that man is pleasant.”

“Considering the blood shed he used to cause in the city, I never thought I’d agree.” His smile faltered. “Do you think-“

“He will like your gift, Master Bruce,” Alfred reassured. “Stop worrying and enjoy yourself a bit. It’s Christmas eve. Enjoy it.” Bruce sighed, heard Jack’s soft footsteps, and put the matter to rest as he appeared, grinning with two full wineglasses in hand.

Jack straddled Bruce’s hips, palms pressed to his temples, fingers entangled in his short hair as he leaned down and kissed him, gyrated his hips in a way that made Bruce want to whimper as he clutched at the man. It was well into the night- Alfred had retired, leaving the two alone, and it hadn’t taken long for them to end up in such a position. The wine in their systems had helped some.

“Mmmm, Brucie,” Jack whispered, pulling his lips away just barely. “Should we take this party elsewhere- or are we going to be _wild_ and do it on the couch?” He grinned, and Bruce blushed, making Jack lean back and giggle. “You’re so cute,” Jack said, “Okay, no couch sex tonight. Maybe for New Year’s.” He leaned closer, brushed his chest against Bruce’s body and let his fingers dance against his scalp. “But if you don’t pick me up and carry me off to bed _soon_ , I might go a little, ah, crazy, sugar.”

Bruce chuckled and wrapped his arms firmly around Jack, standing up as the man’s legs wrapped around his waist. Jack clung to him as Bruce walked almost effortlessly- though his mind was racing. As he neared the bedroom, there was no backing out, and a part of him feared Jack’s answer, feared maybe it was too much to ask to have him under the same roof, to make things that serious. He’d been free as the Joker- being _his_ Jack chained him down to a pathetic attempt at normal.

Bruce opened the door with his hip as Jack nibbled at his neck, whispering seet little nothings and a few breathy desires against his skin. Bruce was getting goose bumps, his body responding to Jack in ways that only this man could bring out of him, but at the same time on edge.

Once inside Bruce walked to the bed, felt Jack slowly untangling, and dropped him gently onto the mattress. He climbed over him, kissed him and pressed him into the blankets, kept the kiss slow and exploratory, in a way that kept taking Jack’s breath from him.

“Brucie baby,” he giggled, “you’re slowing things _down_. Shouldn’t I be naked already?” He kept giggling as Bruce supported himself on his elbows, felt Jack’s chest right and fall up into him with each breath.

“In a minute,” Bruce whispered. “Can we be serious for a minute, Jack?” He rolled off him, sat up, and Jack followed suit, running fingers through his curls to calm them.

“Why so serious?” He asked, raising his eyebrows, but giving Bruce a real smile. Bruce reached underneath the pillow, pulled out the small box with the big red ribbon.

“Jack,” he said, looked at the box, then held it out. “This is for you.” Jack took it carefully, ran part of the ribbon between his fingers.

“Shouldn’t I wait until Christmas morning?”

“Please open it now,” Bruce said, his voice almost pained, and Jack giggled and shrugged one shoulder. He plucked at the bow, untied it, let the red ribbon fall onto his lap, and lifted the lid of the box. He stared at the bracelet resting pristinely inside it, eyes roving over the one word, _Beautiful_ inscribed into it. He reached down, ran his fingers over it, looked back up at Bruce.

“Bruce-“

“It’s true,” Bruce said, reaching out, covering the bracelet and Jack’s hand. “You’re beautiful, Jack. I know...I know all you’ve done, and I know your scars, but that doesn’t change anything. You _complete_ me Jack. I...I love you.” Bruce gave him a nervous smile and Jack smiled back, leaning forward to kiss his lips softly. Bruce took his hand back, let Jack pull the bracelet out and look at it, turn it over and feel the inscription on the back.

“Your Jack, huh?” he asked, sounding playful, and Bruce nodded.

“I don’t want to share,” he said, “Ever. Not for the rest of my life, Jack. Move in with me.” Jack’s head jerked up, and he stared at Bruce, thinking he’d heard him incorrectly.

“Won’t that interfere with your Bat business,” Jack said, “having the Joker under your roof?”

“I don’t care,” Bruce said, reaching forward and taking the bracelet from Jack’s nimble fingers, draping it over his wrist and clasping it. “You’re not that man anymore. You’re Jack. Just Jack. And Bruce can’t function without Jack- just like Batman couldn’t without the Joker. Please, Jack.”

Jack was quiet for a moment, before he reached out, took Bruce’s hand and lifted it, kissed his fingertips. Bruce shivered, felt Jack’s eyes as much as he saw them.

“Of course,” he whispered, kissed Bruce’s palm. Bruce saw the glint of the silver on his wrist. “There’s no place I’d rather be, Batsy darling.” His tongue darted and touched skin at the old pet name, and Bruce shivered, reached for Jack and pulled him onto his lap, encasing him in his arms and nuzzled into his neck, his soft curls. Jack smiled and held Bruce, stroked his hair, the back of his neck.

“And I love you too,” he whispered, knowing it was true.


	25. Day 25 What Christmas Means

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deviated more than I intended to from the topic. Oh well!

The Joker slipped from the bed quietly. It was early morning- still dark, about five AM, and outside Gotham slept as Christmas day descended. Next to where he had lain, Bruce slept soundly, undisturbed by his bedmate’s disappearance.

Naked, the Joker made his way to the window, pulled back on heavy- black, he noted- curtain, and peered out into the dark, snowy streets. Houses and shops had left Christmas lights on all night, and they’d burn into the 26th when everyone returned to that _normal_ way of life and took them down for another eleven months.

The lights were pretty- silently he thought so, not that he would admit to it. Well, not without a grin and a fit of giggles. No one would take him seriously then- or they’d be afraid too. But honestly, he liked them- the way the colors burned so bright and lively, even in daylight, the way it added some sort of life and being to lifeless, beingless buildings- husks of the city.

He leaned his hip against the window sil, pressed his fingertips to the glass. Despite the heat- kept up high in the penthouse- the glass was cold from the outside. Where he should be. He leaned his forehead against it, knowing most of the paint he had worn the night before was gone. Traces were left all over Bruce’s body, the rest on his expensive pillow cases. His Bat wouldn’t even notice- that’s how deep into the infatuation he was. He wouldn’t notice until the Joker was gone, and then he’d touch the paint and not want to wash it away because _it was his_.

The Joker turned away, looked at the mess they had left the room. Parts of Bruce’s suit lay all over the floor in a haphazard mess. In his haste to get his Bat naked, the Joker hadn’t cared where things were thrown, and Bruce had echoed that, not even wanting to stop in the cave to strip properly. He walked towards the arm chair Bruce kept in the room, grabbed the heavy cape, and threw it around his shoulders, letting the thick fabric rest against his naked body. It smelled like the city- like snow and gasoline and asphalt and Kevlar and that scent that clung to Bruce’s skin that cologne could never hide- that which was solely his.

One hand clutching the cape against his collar bone, he reached for the mask that rested on the chair, lifted it by one pointed ear and held it, staring at it. Without Bruce’s handsome face beneath it, it seemed a trivial thing. But once, once it had been such an obsession, that mask, the Bat- before he had a name, a face, a story. Once he became a _man_ , the obsession...changed.

The Joker looked over his shoulder at Bruce, sleeping. Yes, changed. He’d loved the Bat, in that sick twisted way only he could- he’d needed him, thrived on him. And then he became Bruce, and the Joker loved him too. But differently. Loved him in the way that allowed the Joker to sleep through the night next to him, the way that allowed the Joker to let the hostages live if it meant seeing the pretty face behind that mask. A way that seemed...human.

For a moment, he wanted to put the mask on. He never had, of the countless times he’d stripped it off Bruce. He’d never looked through it, saw the world as Bruce did.

He chucked it back onto the chair, not wanting to see. Instead, he turned, made his way back towards the bed with the cape around him. He pulled the blanket back and Bruce stirred, opened those dark, chocolatey eyes and looked at him.

“Is that my cape?” he mumbled, and the Joker giggled, let it fall to the floor, and climbed back into the bed. Bruce wrapped his arms around him, pulled his closer.

“Are you going to sleep the day a-way?” the Joker asked, and Bruce sighed, pushed himself up to look at the clock, then groaned and flopped back down.

“It’s five fucking AM,” he said, “the day hasn’t started. Go back to sleep.”

“But there’s so much to _see_.” Bruce opened his eyes again, stared hard at the Joker.

“I swear to God, if you have something twisted planned, you won’t walk for a month.” The Joker giggled, twirled some of Bruce’s hair.

“Oh _baby_ , that sounds like a reward, not a threa-t.” Bruce frowned.

“You know what I meant.” The Joker rolled his eyes.

“No _humor_ Bats. That’s your prob-lem. No no no, I meant there’s so much to see out there that _won’t_ burn the city down...probably.” He grinned. “It’s quite pretty, Bruce darling.”

Bruce closed his eyes, nestling into the Joker’s chest. “In a few hours.” For a moment the man was silent, and Bruce thought he might get some sleep, when he spoke again.

“Bruce?”

“Hmmm?”

“What’s it all mean to you?” Bruce cracked his eyes open and looked up. The Joker’s eyes were dark, intent, staring down at him. His face was even serious- Bruce could clearly see, the paint was all wiped away. He was sure it was all over _him_ now.

“What are you talking about?”

“This? Christmas?” Bruce raised an eyebrow, then shrugged.

“I...I don’t know. I don’t really have family, so not much of anything.” The Joker’s face dropped a bit, and Bruce sighed. “I mean...if you’re not planning to be an ass and make me chase you all day, I could spend it with you, Joker. Sick as it is, we’re family now...after all this...”

The words pained Bruce a little, yet felt relieving. It was true, the man was the only one out there who understood him- understood him more than Bruce understood himself, which was scary. The Joker smiled at this, stroked Bruce’s shoulder as he rolled onto his back and stared up at the dark ceiling over head. Bruce kissed his collar bone, settled on his chest to listen to the tiny beats of his heart.

“I promise you won’t have to chase me.” _Ever again_. “And Bats?”

“Yeah?”

“You can call me Jack.” Those emerald eyes closed and Bruce sat up, looking at the calm face. A moment passed, and he smiled, settling back down into the serene insanity of the world he was creating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to all! <3


End file.
